


Boy In A Band

by HunnyBunchesXO



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fred is a little shit, Heavily influenced by 90s Britpop, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I didn't wanna make Angelina the villain, Musician!Fred, Musician!George, Musician!Lee, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Quidditch, Slytherin!Reader - Freeform, Someone Give George A Hug, Tags May Change, Trapped In A Closet, also Zoe is an actual character, photographer!reader, she just didn't have any lines, the twins would hate oasis don't @ me, they're in a band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunnyBunchesXO/pseuds/HunnyBunchesXO
Summary: {ONGOING}George Weasley has been in love with you for longer than he’s known. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything but you when you run rings around his mind, every minute of every day. All his songs are about you. You feel exactly the same way, he is your muse, your model. His touch sets fire to your skin, taking your breath away.Fred and Lee are just there to see you make fools of yourselves.
Relationships: George Weasley/Reader
Comments: 36
Kudos: 63





	1. Grumpy Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first fic I've had the courage to post. Dear reader, whoever you are, thank you for giving me a chance and I hope you enjoy.

_Shit. Shit! SHIT!_

Panic sets in as you remember that you were supposed to meet the boys in the Room of Requirement at six in the morning. The arms of your bedside clock click to ten past the hour.

Climbing out of bed, reaching for a bundled up pair of socks, you pull them on, thankful they’d only been worn once and weren’t smelly. You brush your hair in record speed, again thankful that you’d had the foresight to shower the night before. Switching pyjamas for a swipe of deodorant under each arm, then black jeans, a white blouse and a deep burgundy sweater vest over the top. You quickly pad outside and down to the girls' washroom to brush your teeth thoroughly, rinsing with mouthwash.

Creeping back into the dorm, quiet to not wake the sleeping Slytherin girls around you, they’re already cautious of your dubious connections with “undesirables”. Muggle-borns. You’re not one to give a toss about blood-status anyways, under the firm belief that it’s an outdated class system. It would be a shame if they caught you waking up early to spend time with Gryffindors on-top of that.

Enough of that now, the Weasley twins were going to give you hell for being late. _Bloody hell!_ You’ll never hear the end of it.

Here you go, quick with the makeup now, foundation, eyeshadow, mascara, a bit of lippy. There. Presentable. You grab your bag and a pair of trainers, tip-toeing towards the door. Slipping out successfully, you sprint through the common room, out the front door and upstairs, down some hallways, another staircase, another hallway, turning the corner and straight into someone’s chest.

You almost fall backwards but Lee Jordan reaches out to steady you with a low chuckle.

“George sent me out to look for you, he was worried you might have gotten locked out again.” The mention of the younger Weasley twin’s name made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

“Fat chance,” you catch your breath as the two of you turn back the way Lee had come from. “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing if I had.”

Lee chuckles again but doesn’t say anything else as the Room of Requirement comes into view, the door still visible.

Fred and George are already inside, the latter tuning a guitar. He stops and looks up as the door closes behind you with a thud.

“Morning,” the lowness of George’s voice never seems to stop catching you off guard, especially as he draws out the ‘o’. “Thought Filch might have given you trouble for being out of bed so early.”

“Given that it’s a Sunday, I’m sure he’s not expecting anyone to be up before ten at the earliest.”

“Bet he’s glad Wood isn’t here anymore,” Fred pops up from behind an amp to take a seat behind his drum kit. It was common knowledge that the now-graduated quidditch team captain could be seen being escorted off the pitch at strange points of the night by various professors, hell-bent on pushing his body to the limit for his next match. The four of you grin in the shared memories of Oliver Wood getting dragged away, grumbling.

You help the three boys set up their makeshift rehearsal studio, Lee’s Keyboard being propped up, Fred’s drum set completed, microphone cables unravelled and snapped into stands, and almost battered-looking notebooks appearing from satchels. A silencing charm is cast for extra protection despite the stone walls being thick enough for it not being necessary.

The three boys had started their band, Deaf Pixie, at some point in the first half of 1994, during your fourth year and their fifth. The twins had been playing music together since before their time at Hogwarts, Molly Weasley had decided early on that she’d rather have her eardrums assaulted rather than her home destroyed by the two trouble makers, choosing a musical outlet for her boys. Lee seemed the obvious choice for main vocals after years of using his voice for quidditch commentary, having dropped an octave during puberty it had a calming lilt to it when he sang.

Rummaging through your bag you find your camera equipment and a few extra rolls of film. Arthur Weasley had taught you how to use a Muggle film camera during your second year, you’d gone home for the winter holidays with the twins.

_‘Come over here for a moment will you?’ Mr Weasley had beaconed, holding a device of some sort. ‘You might find this useful, keep your hands busy.’_

_You’d blushed furiously, embarrassed that your nervous fidgeting had been noticed, but you took the camera out of his hands, carefully tucking the strap over your head._

_‘This camera is different from any you might have seen before. Can you see how?’ You’d turned it in your hands, thumb sliding over ridges._

_‘Is this a Muggle camera?’ You hadn’t seen any cameras from_ Olympus _before, excitement bubbled inside you and you threw your arms around the man. ‘Oh thank you!’_

_George had poked his head around the corner just then, curious as to where his friend had disappeared off to, only to get roped in to pose for your first picture. He was awestruck by your contagious happiness, smiling at you through the camera lens. Unbeknownst to him, you were equally as awestruck by the older boy in front of you, the first time you’d ever seen him content to sit still._

_Click!_

“We still need to decide on a setlist,” Fred said, adjusting his instruments.

“Who’s saying we’ll even be able to finish a single song?” Despite Lee’s efforts, he hadn’t been able to put through a good word with any teachers. There was a chance that they could get caught during a guerrilla performance and be sent straight to detention, even worse, have their instruments confiscated.

“Hey, Y/L/N, catch!” George chucked a brown paper bag in your direction.

“What’s this?” Inside is a breakfast pastry, still slightly warm, the boys must have taken a trip to the Great Hall on their way here to steal food as it was being laid out for breakfast. Buttery flakes meet your tongue as you all but inhale the food with an appreciative moan. You thank George through mouthfuls, he turns away from the group so no one sees him smile, obviously pleased with himself.

Band practice moves smoothly, a series of covers from Muggle bands. After stealing _borrowing_ a radio from a Muggle-born, the three had decided that they’d take inspiration from a band called ‘Blur’ on the consensus that “Oasis sound like a bunch of whiney babies”, whatever that meant.

After taking a sufficient amount of photos of the three boys, you took George’s notebook and to note down the songs that they completed through with ease, making them contenders for a setlist. The dog-eared book was practically filled to the brim with prank ideas, reminders to do his Transfiguration homework and small doodles. You paused over a small scribble in a corner, barely visible amongst a drawing of a grumpy Professor Snape.

Just above a speech bubble saying “Someone gets me some shampoo!”, was George’s handwriting reading: do you think she misses me when I’m not around?

Your heart caught in your throat, caught off guard by the wave of jealousy that crashed over your body in an instant. You flipped the page.

_Parklife - Blur_

_Common People - Pulp_

_This Charming Man - The Smiths_

_Teenage Kicks - The Undertones_

_Girls and Boys - Blur_

You looked up as the boys finished Town Called Malice by The Jam, deciding it’d need more practise at another time.

“Hey Y/L/N, you want to have a go?” Fred said, taking out a bottle of water. “Georgie-boy says you’re good to sing.”

You shot a glare towards the younger Weasley twin.

“That was one time!” Pointing an accusatory finger at him, he held both his hands up from his guitar in a sign of peace.

“All I said was that you were a good singer! We were talking about bringing a girl in for backup vocals.” A sea of emotions erupted inside you yet again, happy that George had put your name forward, but also jealous that the girl he’d written in his notebook could have also been mentioned.

“I wasn’t the soberest when I sang for you, George,” you say with a sigh, cringing slightly as you remember the circumstances that it had happened.

_It was Spring, Fifth Years Fred and George had snuck you out to take you to a celebratory party, Gryffindor had won a quidditch match against Ravenclaw. You’d joined in on the festivities, taking in quite a bit of alcohol during drinking games and dancing to your heart's content. George watched fondly from the sidelines, just as drunk, before joining you, taking your hand and twirling you._

_It was 2 AM when Prefect Percy Weasley appeared and announced that the party was over, clearly pissed off that the ruckus had kept him up, especially since someone chucked an empty beer can at him. Everyone started clearing off to get ready for bed, barely contained drunken-giggles._

_You’d started towards the painting-door when George caught your hand for the second time that night._

_“I’ll walk you back.” He’d said with a smile. “Can’t have you wandering around alone at this time of night. I’d be sad if you got lost and ended up caught.”_

_“Lost? In this castle? That’s impossible, George,” You’d said with a giggle._

_Your wands illuminated the hallways. You hadn’t noticed at the time, but George took the long way to the Slytherin commons. You were almost too caught up in making George laugh with your dancing to hear Filch walking around up ahead. The footsteps got louder, wands were extinguished._

_“What do we do?!” You’d whispered._

_“Quick, in here.” George had found a storage cupboard and pulled you inside._

_You couldn’t tell whether it was luck or misfortune but with the door shut behind you, you were pressed up against each other._

_Chest-to-chest. Well, Face-to-chest._

_He was leaning with his back against the wall, with his wrapped his arms around your waist, a thigh between your legs. You could hear his heartbeat, it was fast, incredibly so. He smelt incredible. Fireworks, sandalwood, toasted marshmallows, and something else. You stood on your tiptoes, burying your face into his neck, arm around his shoulders, the other had a hand in his hair._

_“What are you doing, Y/N?” He couldn’t breathe, your lips brushed against the soft skin of his neck, not exactly a kiss._

_“Are you wearing the cologne I bought you for Christmas?” It was a whisper. “You smell good.”_

_George had died and gone to heaven._

_You sank back into his arms again, quietly singing the last song played at the party._

_He never wanted the moment to end, but ten minutes later when he was certain there were no teachers around to catch you, you left the storage cupboard._

After a brief quarrel with the three boys, you picked up Fred’s microphone out of the stand, deciding on a song. The boys launched into a rendition of Temptation by Heaven 17 but only if George sang with you.

Fred and Lee looked at each other knowingly during the song, the former practically rolling his eyes. The elder Weasley twin had suffered enough watching the two pine for each other for years. It was an almost daily occurrence for the older to get under the younger’s skin, making jokes at his expense. Pointing out that if he didn’t make a move soon, someone else might swoop the girl up, maybe it’d even be himself, she’s a very pretty girl. George would respond with a smack to the back of Fred’s head, or when he was being especially evil with his taunting, he’d be hexed. Fred had witnessed his brother falling in love with their mutual friend for the last five years, ever since they’d met you on a certain King’s Cross platform. The two boys had helped you load your trunk onboard. The twins had ruffled your hair.

_“I’m Fred.”_

_“I’m George, the better-looking one.”_

_“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”_

The rehearsal lasted another hour, then hunger started to settle in. Belongings were quickly scooped up and the group left the room, careful to make sure no one was around to catch you leaving. Given that it wasn’t too late, it was decided that there was enough time to join the last group to Hogsmeade. After a long morning, all that you could think about was a cold butterbeer and a plate of steaming hot food.


	2. And They Were Roommates... With A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much to everyone who read chapter one! Hopefully I’ll be able to update at least once a week if things really take off. Anyways, here’s to you, faithful readers xx

The sun was setting when you arrive back at Hogwarts, stomach full, completely content. George’s jacket was slung over your shoulders, and the late-September chill had started to set in through the thin sleeves of your blouse. Ever the gentleman, he’d quickly pulled it off and wrapped you up in the bomber jacket. The group split into pairs on the walk back to school, you and George taking the rear, in your bubbles of obliviousness, completely missing the looks of adoration in each others’ eyes.

Every so often your hands would brush together and George fought the urge to take your hand in his. He’d often admired how your hands took as much a beating as he had done over the years. Quidditch often destroyed his palms and knuckles, to which you’d take the time to wrap them up after games. Carefully applying anti-septic to especially bad cuts and callouses, plasters following. There were one or two times where you’d kissed the back of his hands after, especially gruelling games.

_ “So they heal faster, silly.” _

Of course, he hadn’t had the heart to tell you that a quick spell or a trip to Madam Pomfrey would clear his hands up straight away. So it became almost a ritual.

He knew that you’d turned an unused room in the Slytherin dorms into a makeshift darkroom to process film like his father had taught you however many years ago. [Remembering Fred act as a diversion] so you could slip into Snape’s office and steal the key to get into the room in the first place, along with some confiscated contraband belonging to the twins. You had a long line of expensive hand creams to help battle the Muggle chemicals you used on an almost daily basis, but there were times where he and Fred would find you on the verge of tears because you had forgotten your lotion routine, not wanting to alert anyone of your almost skinned raw palms out of fear that your darkroom would be taken away after such an effort to set it up in the first place. It was times like this where George would lead you to a quiet place and reciprocate what you did for him on a much regular basis. He’d patch you up, kissing the backs of your hands.

_“There, that’s not as bad now is it?”_

He knew that he’d never forget what you’d looked like in these moments. Completely relaxed, a small smile on your face. He thought you looked like an angel.

Walking up the path towards Hogwarts, listening to you babble on about how excited you were for the first Deaf Pixie concert, what songs you think should go on the setlist and which songs need more work, suggesting that someone take a shot at writing a song of their own.

“None of this matters if you aren’t there to catch any evidence of us being able to play, Y/N,” he interrupted. “I refuse to play another note unless you’re our one and only photographer.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Weasley.” You’d said in return. “By the way, I saw something weird in your notebook earlier.”

George’s blood ran cold. There were a lot of things in his notebook that could be considered ‘weird’. Shit, had you even found the pages of his first attempts at writing a song? Alright, just play it off, say something funny. He can do funny.

“If you’re talking about the picture I drew of Percy’s head with a cricket’s body, I have nothing to be sorry for, that’s some of my best work I’ll have you know.” You laughed, his mood shifted slightly.

“I didn’t see that! I’ll hold you to it that you show me later,” You grinned. “But no, you wrote something about a girl missing you or something, I forget.”

You played it off with a wave of your hand when in fact you hadn’t forgotten. You knew exactly what he’d written.

However, George knew exactly what he’d written.

“It was a note for Fred, I’d flirted with McGonagall in class again.” He said with a grin, hoping you couldn’t see his barefaced lie. “She didn’t give me detention this time though, I don’t think she’d be able to keep her hands off of me.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Ms Minerva McGonagall is in love with you?”

“Are you trying to tell me that she isn’t? You should see the way she looks at me. It’s love.”

“I’m pretty sure the look she gives you is called indignation, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Oi, careful what you say, might have to take my jacket back if you’re going to be mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Georgie,” you say with a coo. “Of course she’s in love with you!”

“That’s much better.”

You reach school and you move to shrug the jacket off, but George stops you.

“Keep it, maybe you’ll if you have a jacket you’ll remember to bring it with you sometimes.”

You thank him, say a hurried goodbye to the three boys and rush inside. 

Out of sight, you practically run back to your dorm, coat catching the air and becoming a cape. Breezing into your shared bedroom, you find your roommates getting ready for dinner. They all regard you with a look of complete neutrality. You stuff the jacket into your trunk before anyone takes a second glance, not wanting the girls to quiz you on who its’ rightful owner is. It was already difficult for them to understand why you don’t care so much about “blood-traitors”, they’d raised some eyebrows to your comments on house-elf civil rights too. Thankfully none of them questioned where you’d been all day, if you played your cards right they’d believe you were in the library all day.

Dinner couldn’t go fast enough, your eyes felt like they were constantly rolling listening to fourth-year Draco Malfoy complain about the boy who lived. It was obvious that the blond had a crush on the boy or was at the very least jealous that he wasn’t getting as much attention as he felt he deserves, ever the narcissist. You made eye contact with George across the room, he gave you an exaggerated wink. You bit your lip in a failed attempt to keep from smiling as you returned it. Gaining courage, he blew you a kiss, you pretended to catch it and plant it on your cheek.

Maybe dinner wasn’t so boring after all.

Pudding arrived and left, the almost sickly sweet concentrated flavour of strawberry jelly still on your tongue, you say goodnight to classmates from other houses with the promise that “Yes, I did the Herbology homework, I’ll let you copy it during breakfast” to Gryffindor Katie Bell and a promise to Ravenclaw Cho Chang that you’d have a study date soon. Students file out and off to their dormitories. You felt naked without any members of Deaf Pixie in your immediate vicinity, jealous of your roommates huddling together in a group a few paces ahead. You could catch up to them but something in your gut told you not to. Their high-end expensive skirts fluttering as they sashayed down flights of stairs, their giggling was getting on your nerves. One of them glanced over her shoulder to look at you, effortlessly glossy blonde hair swept over her shoulder, a smug smile displayed on her glossed lips. Maybe Zoe Accrington was the kind of girl George fancied, someone with style and flair. She watched you for a second longer before turning around again, chin high. In the five years you’d shared a bedroom with the girl you’d never once seen a hair out of place, even first thing in the morning, when normal people usually have to flatten down their bedhead, Zoe looked as if she hadn’t moved at all. It was unnerving.

Ten minutes later and you’re scrubbing your teeth clean when the same girl walked in, stopping at the basin next to you. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Zoe meticulously took her makeup off and begin her nightly skincare routine. You thought it made no difference, honestly, her skin was perfect, not a blemish in sight. You’d been blessed with moderately clear skin. Once every month or two you’d get a large spot on your chin or forehead but that was it, but the girl next to you had never seen a bad day in her life it seemed. The pretty bottles of expensive products clinked together as she rummaged through. You were broken out of your daze when the girl spoke to you.

“You know, I do admire you,” her head tilted, same smug smirk, eyes slightly squinted.

“Oh,” was all the sound you could make with a mouth full of frothy mint-paste.

“Totally,” She’d moved on to dabbing her now washed face with a hand towel embroidered with her initials. “Not all of us can slack off day after day to mess about with silly little projects.”

Looking at you through the mirror, her smirk grew bigger. You spat into the sink, rinsing with water.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You swished mouthwash around your mouth.

“You don’t think we notice you sneaking off at strange hours? We’re all Slytherins here, not as stupid as you like to think, Y/N, no need to patronise.” She was applying a lip balm. “Unlike your precious Gryffindors.”

“Get to the point.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe you should start networking with your own kind for a change. They’ll get sick of you eventually, you know, we’re all surprised you’d lasted this long.”

“They’re not like that. They’re my friends.”

“For now, yes,” she was looking straight at you now, crystal blue eyes boring into your own. “But you know what they say about us, dwellers of the dungeons. You know that sometimes they’ll forget to exclude you in their taunting, you’ll be in the deep end with the rest of us soon enough.”

“You’re a liar. They’re good people.”

Zoe reached into the bag once again, pulling out a familiar object.

“Look, Y/N, I’m just trying to warn you,” a pitiful cry fell from your mouth as the girl opposite cracked open the back panel of your camera, instantly destroying the unprocessed film inside under the white light of the bathroom. “The sooner you let go of your childish delusions, the better. There will always be us and then them, you are not exempt.”

The camera was pushed into your cupped hands. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d brought them up in silent prayer.

Zoe left the room.

You fell to your knees, mourning the lost images, cradling the plastic and metal contraption to your chest.

George could never fact a girl like Zoe, you decided.

On the other hand, she had a point.


	3. Getting Through To A Friend In Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I’ve been listening to the Phelps twins’ podcast, Double Trouble, a lot in between writing and I’m very aware that they like Oasis, but I will die on the hill that is the Weasley twins being Blur fans, no one can convince me otherwise.
> 
> 🚨 Trigger Warning 🚨 - mentions of skipping meals in this chapter, it’s mentioned in the first paragraph only. Y/N doesn’t have an eating disorder and she won’t skip meals beyond this chapter.

George couldn’t help but watch you from across the Great Hall.

If your facial expressions were any indication of how you felt, you must have been downright miserable.

No-one had been able to catch you alone in almost a week, out of the fifteen mealtimes you should have been at from Monday to Friday, you’d shown up to half. You’d wedge yourself, in-between girls, he recognised as your dorm mates making it impossible to get anywhere near you. In-between lessons were impossible, you’d keep the desk closest the door in every lesson, keeping your head down and ducking out, blending into the crowded hallways as soon as possible. He was also pretty sure you’d been checking in with Madam Pomfrey as a way of skipping lessons, but with your now pale and dull features, the matron needed no extra convincing to keep you tucked up in a hospital bed for an hour or two. You hadn’t even shown up to Wednesday night-after curfew band practice despite having promised to show your ideas for potential band fliers and posters.

The boy had no idea what had happened to make you behave this way, how to get to you or how to make you feel better.

It was eating him alive to see you this way, but knowing you were actively avoiding your friends was rubbing salt to wounds.

He had to find a way to get you alone or at least trick you into talking.

And just like that, a plan popped into his head.

“Oi! Harry! I’m going to need your cloak.”

George snuck off early from dinner to grab the invisible cloak and broke into the Slytherin commons.

It was possibly the stupidest plan he’d ever had, and to pull it off on his own no less. He thought he deserved an award.

Finding the girls' dorm rooms was easy enough, opened a few wrong doors till he found the right bedroom. The layout was almost the same as his own, the colour palette was different of course, all the beds had been made, and there weren’t any clothes dumped haphazardly on the floor. The same four-poster beds in a black lacquered wood. He wasn’t surprised to see that most of the girls had what was probably raw silk bedsheets, plush velvet throw pillows and blankets. He smiled seeing what was your section of the room. On your bedside table were multiple dog-eared novels and two framed pictures. The first of people who bore a striking resemblance to you, you laid across their laps, head thrown back in a laugh. He smiled to himself, thinking of maybe having a chance to meet your extended family someday. Picture two was of himself and Fred, holding Ron over the bannister of a moving staircase, his younger brother’s face plastered with a look of fear. His fingers trailed the cotton of your duvet cover, at the foot of your bed was a hand-stitched quilted blanket.

His mum had taught you how to sew around the same time his dad had gifted you your camera. The first thing you’d made was the blanket now in front of him. It had been made from his old bedroom curtains. His mum had been sick and tired of fixing the wall every time the curtains were torn down in the twins’ room that he and Fred weren’t to have any. Y/N had told him that his mum sat with you one morning, patiently teaching. The two had sat content in each other’s company. As much as Molly loves her only daughter, eleven-year-old Ginny wasn’t interested in sewing. Y/N wasn’t necessarily close with her own parents, being in the Weasley household was a happy change of pace. He then remembered pulling the unfinished project from your hands a few nights later, wrapping it around his shoulders and pretending to be an old lady, his hand held out in a claw shape. You’d burst into laughter, clutching at your sides, when let out an evil cackle.

_ “What a pretty young lady you are! All the boys must chase after you!” _

_ “Stop, George! You sound like my nan!” _

It was the last morning of the holiday when you’d shaken George awake, the sun had barely risen. He’d grumbled but blinked his eyes open to see his initials embroidered into the corner of a finished quilt.

_ GFW _

Even now he was astonished that you’d created something like this. He put it down, thumb swiping over the black thread of the lettering.

Eyes were drawn to the chest of drawers acting as your bedside table. If the key to your secret darkroom was anywhere it was going to be in there or in the trunk. He had to pick up the pace now, dinner would be ending soon.

The top drawer was yanked open then slammed shut just as fast. George hadn’t in a million years considered that you’d have quite the collection of underwear. His body temperature kicked up quite a few notches in embarrassment. His plan had involved going through your belongings but hadn’t considered having to confront your underwear drawer. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the drawer open again, he did his best not to think about what he was touching. All he wanted was a key, not the knowledge that you owned underwear in such a variety of colours, fabrics and styles. For a moment he wondered which combination you’d been wearing that night in the storeroom.

George was just a man, he could only handle so much.

He swiftly moved on to the second and third drawers, finding it much easier to rifle through jumpers and jeans than it was panties. Not now, he thought to himself, crouching down for the last drawer. Then he caught sight of the handbag you’d been carrying last time you’d spoken to him. And then there it was, a large metal key, a paper tag attached with a string declaring it belonged to _‘Slytherin Storeroom Number 7’_.

With a last look at the other nicknacks you had displayed, he promised himself he wanted to come back here with your permission. Not much time left, better move on.

_ “It’s perfect, three doors down from my room, but no one even notices it’s there,” you’d bragged in your third year. _

You were right, as usual, the door was inconspicuous and the key fit. He let himself in, the door softly clicking shut. The light switch flicked on a dim red glow.

Credit where credit is due, you’d made quite the studio for yourself. Laid out in front of him was all the equipment he and Fred had helped you smuggle into Hogwarts over the years. A large and heavy contraption against the front wall was the first.

_“Bloody hell, what do you even have in here? A dragon?”_

_ “It’s called an enlarger, George,” you’d said. He and Fred swore, lifting your trunk between the two of them to the train from your trolley. _

Large plastic bottles of Muggle potions with really long names he couldn’t even begin trying to pronounce were there too. Trays of said liquids were on a desk against a wall and a pair of kitchen tongs. A filing cabinet in the not-so-far corner of the small room.

What he was most interested in, however, were the papers hanging to dry. There were five rows of washing line hung at the same height as his face. A smile was brought to his lips thinking of you having to stand on a stool to hang the string. Surprisingly, you were cagey about the photographs you took. It wasn’t often he had access to what you’d taken, most of what he’d seen was of parties.

He slowly moved to the first row of pictures, there were ten.

Picture number one was of a crowd, he could pick out a few familiar faces, an educated guess was that it was from a quidditch game. A blonde girl in the foreground was looking down the lens, having noticed that a picture was being taken and very obviously posing for it despite the intention of it being candid.

Picture number two was taken in the library, shelves full of books made up the backdrop for a portrait of Cho Chang hunched over a table of books. It looked like you’d been on a study date with the Ravenclaw girl. Reaching into the frame was someone holding onto her arm. The red-light distorted the colours of the photo but George was willing to put money on the arm belonging to Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory.

Picture number three was slightly blurry but it was a Lee Jordan portrait, he was reaching out towards the camera. He must have nudged you at the wrong moment.

Picture number four was a follow up to the last one. Lee, now in focus, with a devilish pout on his lips. You’d probably scolded him for ruining the last one. Fred was also there, his arm slung around the other boy’s shoulders, it looked as if he was mid-laugh.

George wasn’t prepared for pictures six through ten. They were all of him, not always by himself but he was always the main focus of the image. Him running down an empty hall towards you, robes billowing behind him. Another from across the classroom of a charms lesson, Professor Flitwick often let you sit in as an advanced student, this must have been a theory lesson by the look of confusion on his face. You were in the next one, looking down the lens, him looking at you out of the corner of his eye, both sporting large butterbeer moustaches. The last three were of him playing his guitar.

He was so engrossed in what he’d found he didn’t even notice the door opening behind him.

“George, you shouldn’t be here.” Came a soft voice from behind him.


	4. Struggles Of A Bee-Stung Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second update in a week but I couldn’t wait for Sunday to post!! Kind of gave myself a pat on the back for this one, even though it’s a bit shorter than usual, I had so much fun writing this chapter and super happy at how it came out. Please let me know if you enjoy, it really does make me happy :)

He all but jumped out of his skin, backing away further into the room like a naughty child.

“You gave me no choice,” his tone was too harsh than he had meant it to be and you flinched. “You stopped talking to me, Y/N, I was worried.”

“Do you like them?” It was an obvious change of topic on your part.

“Bloody hell, of course, I do.” He saw the corners of your mouth twitch. It was possible you were trying not to cry from the praise. “You’re really good.”

George showered you in compliments in-between the messing about but in this setting, it was much different. In this room, he was deadly serious.

“What happened? Why’d you shut me out, Y/N?”

“I was scared,” your voice trembled but he knew that you wouldn’t cry, not yet. You weren’t ready to be vulnerable to another person, taking care to bring down the walls around your heart. “Things are changing, you’ll leave me behind eventually, I’m just trying to protect myself.”

“Who said those things to you?” There was a small list of things that made George blind with rage, something, or someone, coming between the two of you was one of them.

“Things are changing,” You repeated, arms came up to hold yourself. “You know the way everyone treats my house, it’s only getting worse.”

“Y/N, people are only getting treated the way they are because they aren’t nice people, it’s the same with everyone regardless of their house. You saw the way Perfect Prefect Percy acted like a complete pratt,” George mimicked his older brother’s nickname in a funny voice, eliciting a half-laugh, lay-say from your lips. “I would never leave you behind. I’m much too annoying to leave you alone.”

“Oh, George,” you fell into his open arms, embracing him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he cradled you in his arms, one hand stroking your hair. His jumper muffled your small sniffles. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Zoe, she’s the one who said those awful, wretched things,” you said. “She destroyed a roll of film too.”

That explained your weird behaviour this week, not only had this girl almost convinced you to cut out all your friends, but she’d committed an act of war.

“Could you point her out to me?” You nodded, relishing the soft cotton-wool blend against your cheek before leaning out of his hold, head ducked low so he couldn’t see you as you wiped your face with the back of your sleeve.

He watched as you unclipped the first picture he’d seen from its spot, then moved to the other rows he hadn’t had a chance to look at. With careful consideration, you chose one other photograph. You leant against the wall beside him, shoulders touching, handing other the first photograph, pointing out the posing blonde girl. The second photograph was similar, it was the Slytherin dining table, most of the frame taken up by food, but at the edge of the frame was the same girl. Posing differently this time, sucking in her cheeks to appear having a skinnier face than she already did.

“It’s funny,” George’s deadpan tone conveyed no humour. “I saw this and thought she looked like a bit of a prat.”

You practically barked out a single laugh, mouth twisted slightly as the noise morphed into something more melancholy. This time you covered your own face, hands pressed over your mouth, desperate to grasp any sense of dignity that could have remained. You slid down the wall, tucking knees to chest. George followed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a half-hug.

“Let it all out, it’s alright.”

It stayed like that for a few minutes. You, heaving out overdue tears and George, seething with silent rage. He’d learnt that in the rare occasions you were like this you preferred physical touch over words of affirmation. Underneath the layer of fury bubbling away at the surface of his emotions, George felt shocked to his core that someone as headstrong as you could have your feelings hurt by someone so unimportant in comparison.

Before long the tears dried up and you calmed yourself down, George pulled you closer to him, head rested on his shoulder.

“Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow?” He asked.

You lifted your head to look at him, eye-to-eye. “Yes.”

Both rested foreheads together, both completely emotionally exhausted from a long week.

“You should get back before lights out, don’t want you getting in trouble,” you whispered.

“Alright,” he said, he leant back only to press a kiss to your forehead.

He pulled away, pushing himself into a squat to stand up. He effortlessly pulled you up from the floor by your hands. It was these random acts of strength that made you remember the boy was an athlete as well as all the other things that took up his time. Looking down at you now he seemed to remember something.

“Before I go, I should tell you something.”

“Yes, George?”

“When I was trying to get into the room,” he lost his momentum. “I had to look through some of your things.”

“Okay.”

“I had to look through your,” he wasn’t as confident as the elder Weasley twin but George had never been so nervous before. “Belongings.”

“Spit it out, George.”

“Your underthings.”

“Alright.”

“Your underwear.”

“Alright.”

“Your panties.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

George looked distressed.

“Were you under the impression that I don’t own pants, George?”

“Yes, I mean, no, I knew those things I just didn’t expect to come across them.”

“You didn’t think you’d come across them in my bedroom.”

“I know it’s stupid but I only thought about breaking in at dinner, there wasn’t exactly enough time for me to sweat the small stuff.” He huffed.

“Alright, alright. What did you think of them then?”

“Of what?”

“My knickers. What did you think?” The energy shifted, you hadn’t crossed a line, just standing on it, testing the waters.

“Oh,” a devilish smile formed on his lips. “I thought they were the most wonderful things I’d ever seen in my entire life! Each one was like a piece of art! It was like my soul broke into a million pieces and all of them went to heaven.”

“That’s enough, I get your point.” You smiled, rolling your eyes, albeit a little disappointed at the sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“She kills me,” his head tilts to the side, acting as if he’d been betrayed, hand over his heart. “She wounds me.”

“Goodnight, George.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He makes for the door, pulling Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak around his shoulders. “By the way, I’ll handle Zoe.”

“Thanks.” He winks at you before pulling the hood up.

The door opens as if on its own. There’s hesitation in the empty doorway.

“I think they suit you, they’re pretty.”


	5. One Day Someone Will Actually Have A Heart Attack But That Day Is Not Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya Everyone!
> 
> Even though this is only the fifth chapter, the response to my fic has been way better than I ever anticipated to begin with, I never expected such positivity!! I’d like to thank everyone who’s given me kudos, commented, or subscribed/bookmarked my fic, every notification I get really does brighten my day so thank you!!
> 
> Without further adieu, here is chapter five.
> 
> <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I changed some of the wording for this chapter, didn’t think it flowed properly xx

You’d gone to sleep knowing that George Weasley:

  1. Had seen your underwear
  2. Liked your taste.



You woke up feeling content for the first time in six days.

You jumped out of bed, grabbing your shower bag and towels from your trunk and headed to the bathroom. You almost scrubbed yourself raw under the scalding hot water, happily watching the soapy foam slip down your skin and then the drain.

Sometimes it felt strange to you that the person you fancied was George, but then how could you not? It had taken you a few years to realise you’d been infatuated with the boy for most of your friendship.

_It was the summer before your fourth year and you’d gone home after spending a week with the Weasley family. At the time you’d thought it was normal that it felt like your soul was being ripped from your body as you left the Burrow, leaving George. As the car drove away, he’d ran alongside your window for as long as he could and you’d pressed your palms up against the glass. He’d slowed down or the car had sped up and you twisted round to watch him through the rear window._

_There was an ache in your chest as he faded into the distance with the rest of the family, and for a few moments as the car passed through forests and fields you wished you’d held on to George a lot more during the last months of school._

_Physical touch was part of Hogwarts culture, it was commonplace for friends to hold hands while walking between lessons or cuddle up together in common rooms under blankets, and this fact did not exclude your own friendships. All of the Weasleys, apart from Percy of course, were particularly gregarious. Meaning, you’d often find yourself being picked up and thrown over a shoulder to be carried around like a rag doll or deft fingers found themselves drawing shapes and words across your back. However, as the heat accompanying the summer months overwhelmed everyone’s senses, it made you hyper aware of just how close you were in proximity to George all the time. It had never bothered you before, but now whenever his arm wrapped around you it left you flustered, tongue tripping over words with bright red cheeks before quickly excusing yourself to go calm yourself down._

_Your brain felt completely frazzled by it all, utterly confused as to why your body was having such a reaction, you were lucky to even pass the end-of-year exams by how distracted you’d been, unable to concentrate on your revision when across the library was…_

_A tall…_

_Funny and smart…_

_Muscular Quidditch player…_

_Stop thinking like that! What’s wrong with you?_

_Although your week in the Burrow was another story, spending the long days basking in the sun, drinking tall glasses of cloudy lemonade and using magic to dump large amounts of freezing cold water onto each other, the sweltering nights were left to stargaze or dance around a bonfire, chirping crickets accompanied music blasting from the stereo._

_You’d had to keep reminding yourself that there was only a month left before George would greet you with a bone-crushing hug on Platform 9 ¾. For thirty one days you eagerly awaited letters from George, pouring over each word before hastily scribbling your reply. He’d often leave small doodles at the parchment corners detailing whatever argument had ensued in the Weasley household since the last letter and in return, you’d send photos of you with your childhood friends, filling him in on any scandals. Despite having never met any of your Muggle friends, George was a terrible gossip and was interested in what mischief you got up to without the need of magic. It had been exactly eighteen days since seeing each other and you’d been sipping your morning fruit juice when your owl had swooped in through the open kitchen window in a flutter of black feathers. You’d almost spat your drink back out reading how George had signed the bottom of the paper in a way he never had before. It was always_ ‘missing your stench, George’, ‘toodles, George’, _or something similar, but never this._

‘Waiting for you, George.’

_Your mind immediately launched into an intense analysis of the letter, dissecting each sentence to see what the meaning behind it was._

_You caught yourself rereading the letter for a third time wondering why his scratchy handwriting was making you hold your breath, heart thundering in your chest. This was George, one of your closest friends for crying out loud! Your common sense kicked in, trying to convince your heart to slow down and take the white-hot blush from your cheeks. What does it matter to you how he signs his letters? It’s not like you fancy each other._

_And just like that, your heart soared with the knowledge it had been trying to get to your head for the last year and your brain felt the dull throb of anxiety as it put the pieces together. It mattered because you had fancied George this whole time!_

_What happened next could have only been described as a panic attack._

You hummed happily while brushing your teeth, pulling the fluffy towel closer around your body. The bathroom never heated up properly. No matter how much steam fogged up the mirrors the tiled floor always remained a bone-chilling temperature. A chill ran up your spine from the soles of your feet as you made your way back to your bedroom to see the other girls waking up. You smiled at Sylvia Melville, your bed neighbour, as she sat up in bed with a stretch. She beckons you over after you retrieve an outfit from your trunk and you sit at the foot of her bed.

“A little bird told me that Cassius is going to take you to the Yule Ball now that you’re not galavanting about with the Weasleys,” she giggled.

“If this is some sort of sick-,” you start to defend yourself, having been caught in-between the quidditch teams before.

“I think he's interested,” she leans forward so the other girls take no notice of the gossip. “Apparently he was talking during Charms. Said he was going to try and put his name in for the tournament and have a pretty girl on his arm for the ball, he mentioned your name.”

“Do you think he’d ask me?”

“More important, would you say yes? He’s quite handsome.” She gave you a jealous look. “The grapevine says he’s a good kisser too.”

“Maybe he should take you instead!” You giggle with each other.

After dressing, you make your way to the Great Hall to have a quick breakfast with George as promised (a steaming bowl of porridge topped with a swirl of honey). Well, more like he kept watch from across the room since you were still nervous about interacting with anyone outside your house when surrounded by so many people who had the same views as Zoe. He understood, just happy that he was able to keep an eye on you.

Despite there being numerous half-bloods like yourself and the odd Muggle-born in Slytherin, it was rare for them to be able to speak up without being “put back in their place”, so to speak. Like many half-bloods, you’d had the foresight to camouflage yourself as a pureblood during your first few months of first year. You were lucky in that your parents both traveled for work and that your siblings had all carried the magical gene, making it easy to lie about the blood status of your father, keeping you and your family safe.

After wolfing down your morning meal, it was time to head to the library to study. The smell of almost-ancient parchment combined with mulled-wine scented candles to create a warm atmosphere for you to hole up in. A desk towards the back of the room is soon covered with books and materials for you to complete an essay for Professor McGonagall. You settle into the perfect hiding place, an undisturbed corner behind a bookcase of Muggle physics books. Wizard sciences have long since disproved the Muggle Laws of Physics, the textbooks provide a cosy space to be left alone.

On quiet Sundays like this one, when students were few and far between, vinyl records were dusted off by the librarian. Which is why you almost didn’t notice the hushed voices above the noise of the soft notes. A few minutes pass and you grow agitated at the low voices. You rose from your place to creep closer, ducking behind another set of shelves, the only thing between you and the discussion.

“You can’t stop me from doing what I want, Weasley,” growled out in a deep voice. The recipient of these harsh words surprised you, the red-haired family claimed a soft spot in your heart and any negative feelings you’d had previously melted away. Only need to find out which Weasley it is.

“If you hurt her, I’m not the only one who’ll be on your case about it.”

“The only thing being hurt is her reputation the longer she’s followed around by people like you.”

The conversation ends as one of them leaves. You poke your head around the corner to catch a glimpse of a boy in tailored grey pinstriped trousers leaving the library. Fred yelps and holds his wand up in alarm as you enter the aisle.

“Bloody hell, I almost hexed you!”

“Very smooth, it’s a miracle Angelina isn’t constantly swooning.” Your grin makes him roll his eyes.

“She won’t be able to keep her hands off of me soon enough.” He crosses his arms across his chest with a smug look.

“All hail Hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor!” Your teasing tone wavers slightly. “Who were you talking to?”

“Never have been one to beat around the bush, have you? It was Cassius.”

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, he was being a prat, was just warning him to button it before he gets a fist to the face.”

“Sylvia told me he might ask me to the Yule Ball, wouldn’t want a date with a black eye.” That seemed to anger Fred, his biceps flexed, as did a muscle in his cheek.

“You’re seriously thinking of going with him?”

“There’s still a few weeks to go before the other schools arrive, besides, it’s not like he’s even asked me yet.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to go with him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your brow furrows.

“Doesn’t matter now.” A head shake moves his fringe out of his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. Let me grab my stuff.”

Fred follows you to your corner and watches as you pack up your things and start to put away textbooks.

“I think I fooled around with someone here once,” he ponders.

“Not surprising. Pretty sure there's more places you’ve messed around in than not, should make a bingo card.”

The elder Weasley twin laughs, relaxing into the rhythm of having his friend back. He considered himself a loyal person, willing to go to the ends of the Earth for the people he cares about, and although he’d never admit to it, the last few days had sucked without your witty one-liners. It was unusual for him to feel betrayed, hurt that he had no idea what had happened for you to turn your back on the world until George had come to bed last night and briefly explained the situation you’d been put in. Fred struggled to keep his composure, especially after hearing Cassius Warrington talking in Charms about you.

The Great Hall was set up for a moderate lunch since two-thirds of the school left to have lunch elsewhere. First and second years chatted happily in between shovelling spoonfuls of food to their mouths. Before you could turn towards the Slytherin table on instinct, Fred grabbed your shoulder and guided you towards George and Lee. You breathed a sigh of relief that you hadn’t spotted anyone that you’d give you any trouble. The two boys seemed to be in an in-depth debate of some sort, hands moving erratically before Lee spotted you over the ginger’s head. George spun around, you couldn’t make out what the look on his face meant before it quickly melted into delight. You brushed it off, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Glad you could join us, your highness,” the term of endearment, despite the mocking tone, caused your imagination to flicker pictures across your mind. Images of a reality you could only hope for; a romantic aspect to an already comfortable friendship. “We were just discussing how to manage your gardening issues.”

“I have a single plant to my name, I think I can handle taking care of a Venus fly trap, George.” You say, taking a seat next to Lee.

“Setting yourself up for failure there, Y/N, we’ve all seen you in Herbology,” the boy next to you pipes up, only to yelp when you playfully swat his shoulder. “Besides, we’re talking about a different kind of pest.”

“A group of weeds that even we wouldn’t smoke.” Fred says, leaning over on his forearms.

“In that case, I’m all ears.”


	6. Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Fungal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!
> 
> I hope you’ve all been keeping warm during this holiday season! Thank you for all the positivity on the last few chapters, I really do appreciate all the comments I get :)
> 
> Before this chapter starts I’d love to give a HUGE thank you to Rachel (@racheltheclumsy) for becoming my beta writer, she’s done an amazing job and you should check out her work!!
> 
> Speaking of my beta, she thought I should let my American readers know that “aliceband” means “headband” in England xx
> 
> Now, without further adieu, here is chapter six xx

A piercing scream ripped through the Slytherin dormitory on Wednesday morning two weeks later.

Almost immediately, sheets were pulled back, bleary-eyed girls scrambled to put on slippers and dressing gowns before racing out to find the source.

“The bathroom!” Comes the worried shout of a second year.

Almost thirty girls hurry down the corridor to see a sobbing figure, wrapped up in a towel, scratching at their skin.

“Merlin!” You push forward through the crowd to see Zoe’s bright red skin, arms beginning to sprout with fungi. You spin on your heels, pointing to a pair of third years. “One of you go and get Professor Snape, the other can go get Madam Pomfrey. Go!”

Prefects help clear the younger girls away, sending them back to their rooms to get dressed for the day. Zoe had started to try and pull out the mushroom formations only to wail in pain, unable to stop as they continued to grow. You shrug off your dressing gown and help Zoe into it, your roommates offer their sympathetic coos.

“This is your fault,” she hisses under her breath when you lift her arm to look at the moss forming a bracelet. “Your precious boyfriends did this to me.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Snape waltzes into the room, his deep voice especially daunting in the bathroom echoes.

“What seems to be the problem?” The words are drawled out, already suspicious of foul-play, to which Zoe responded in yet another wail of agony when you squeezed her wrist tightly.

Pomfrey arrived shortly after, joining the head of house in inspecting the spores along Zoe’s forearms. The fungi had stopped growing at this point and the decision was made that she’d be treated in the hospital wing while Professor Snape would conduct an investigation. All of Zoe’s products were collected. Each lotion, soap and serum were scooped into a basket summoned out of thin air. Students present were dismissed to get ready for classes, Zoe’s simpering form ushered out by the kindly matron.

Zoe’s incessant screeching had not only reached the Slytherin boys but also the Hufflepuffs. Both tables were abuzz with curious chatter that morning over bowls of cereal and plates of scrambled eggs. Word spread throughout the day that someone had tampered with another student’s belongings resulting in unusual skin growth. As the story was retold, certain aspects were exaggerated, by the time you were called out of History of Magic to be questioned it was believed that Zoe had trees for arms.

Waiting outside of Dumbledore’s office you could only admire the twins’ handiwork. They’d brewed a variation of fungiface potion for you to replace any of Zoe’s cosmetics with. Now all you had to do was keep a straight face and remain calm despite the obvious glee you were experiencing. Not only was she being kept away for the rest of the week, but when she returned, Zoe would experience embarrassment from the already out-of-control rumour.

You’d been interrogated multiple times before, this one was breezed through since you weren’t the suspect of the crime. It seemed like as much as it pained your head of house, Snape had no leads to go on to pin the blame on anyone, especially the Weasley twins. You were sent back to class after fifteen minutes, a grin appeared on your face once out of sight, giddy with having gotten away with being the true mastermind. You were halfway back to the classroom before a painting swung open slightly as you walked past, a hand stuck out to grab the scruff of your neck and yanked you inside a narrow hallway.

In the swift movement, you’d been able to keep your balance, one hand reaching behind to find cold stones and the other bringing your wand up, ready to attack. However, when the person turned around after pulling the painting-door closed, it was only George.

“Did Fred put you up to this? I told him I was sorry for what happened in the library!” You whisper rapidly, lowering your wand.

“What are you on about? No, I just wanted to catch you before you got back to class,” he was slightly confused, Fred must have not mentioned anything.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just gave him a bit of a fright the other day,” your smile seemed to ease him.

“I expect nothing less, the git probably deserved it. How’d it go with Snape?”

“We’re off the hook for the moment, Zoe suspects that it had something to do with you and probably told Snape but he doesn’t have any evidence to pin it on anyone and probably doesn’t think it could’ve been an inside job.”

“Good, we’ll probably have to lay off for a bit, just to make sure,” you can’t help but admire the way George moved to lean over you, hand supporting his weight from beside your head, the secret passageway wasn’t built for someone so tall.

“Good luck trying to convince Fred to behave,” you swallow thickly, George’s new positioning caught you off guard. “caught him on the verge of beating someone up the other day.”

“Probably had good reason to,” a flash of recognition flitted across George’s eyes, you realised he knew the full extent of his twin’s encounter with Cassius, while you had only caught the tail end. You could only hum in response, the two boys were keeping something from you. “I’ll see you at practice later, yeah?”

“Sure.”

George clicked open the portrait-door to check that the coast was clear before leading the way out and sending you on your way to being greeted back in your lesson with excited whispers, grateful that you only had a few minutes left before being able to slip away.

You were ravenous by the time dinner rolled around, you’d spent your afternoon lessons disgruntled that your friends had taken to keeping secrets from you. Sylvia provided no use when you asked politely if she knew of anything else happening in Cassius’ Charms lesson, but since she was still just a fifth-year like you, she only had second-hand information. You dropped the topic, not wanting to alert her of a possible impending Weasley fistfight, to finish eating the vegetables remaining on your plate. Dessert was a scoop of ice-cream that changed between the three Neapolitan flavours with each lick.

Leaving the great hall with the swirling flavours of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry on your tongue you decided that given the opportunity, you’d deal with Cassius yourself. You weren’t about to start being a damsel-in-distress now, insulted that the twins on some level didn’t think you were capable of whatever it was they were hiding. You’d been the one to switch Zoe’s lotion and get away with it for crying out loud!

With a few hours left before curfew, you slipped away unnoticed and made your way to the Room of Requirement for band practice. As the door made itself visible, you got your breathing in control and emotions in check, not wanting to turn up flustered. Inside, Lee, Fred and George were talking about having their first proper gig the first weekend after Halloween. In only a few days, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would swarm the school and take part in competing, in the dungeons below and a tower high above, house-elves were making space for the students in the Ravenclaw and Slytherin dormitories. Fred had suggested turning the Room of Requirement into a venue of itself and charge people at the door, but the idea was quickly shot down by Lee.

“Why would someone want to give us any money if they don’t know if we’re any good?”

“We also run the risk of getting people caught if they’re queueing to get in all night, not a bad idea to just throw a party instead,” you add, taking out a notebook, quill and ink. “How about Hufflepuff? If their dorm is anything like mine, they should have great acoustics.”

“Not bad, Y/L/N,” Fred grins. “We have a few lessons with Cedric, George and I can convince him to let us in.”

With the tapping of his sticks, Fred led the intro to I Am the Resurrection by The Stone Roses, George’s strumming joined in, followed by Lee’s vocals, but it sounded different to how it should have, something was missing. George noticed too and stopped playing halfway through the song where there was space for an instrumental section.

“We can’t go on without a bassist,” he decided. “We’ve done fine without one before but we’ll look like idiots if we try to play a gig.”

The four of you thought for a moment about anyone who could know how to play the bass guitar before all coming up on empty.

“I could try switching between songs?” Lee offered, trying to catch the eyes of the twins who were in the middle of making faces at each other, a conversation only they knew the meaning of. George broke the eye contact first to take off his guitar and went to a case against the wall, unclipping the locks.

“Since we already have a bass, we could just teach someone.” Fred was now looking at you scrambling to your feet, previously having been sitting on the floor. “It’s pretty easy to learn, it’d have to be for George to know it.”

George returned with the four-stringed guitar, flipping off his brother. He held the instrument up so it was easier for you to loop the strap over your head before moving to position himself behind you and adjust the strap length then reach around to move your arms and hands to the correct places. You were glad that Fred and Lee decided to take a water break, trying to block out their snickers and the body heat of the boy behind you. You were also begrudgingly happy to realise that Fred was right, the basics of playing bass were easy enough, you could only hope that George’s closeness hadn’t clouded your mind, unable to shake the warmth his hand had left on your skin when he finished showing you how to hold down the strings in different chords. He also taught you the notes to a song by Weezer, one that he took lead vocals for. You got through Say It Ain’t So with only a few mistakes, stumbling only when you got distracted by George’s singing voice.

Rehearsal ended after an hour, giving you enough time to get back into your common room without raising suspicion about where you were. You were able to sneak out into an empty hallway with a promise to return during any free time to practice.

Winter chills had started to creep in earlier this year over the top of the regular deep-under-a-lake chill. Fireplaces burst with crackling blue flames for gaggles of students to sit around crammed on sofas and loveseats, coffee tables laden with enchanted teapots that never got cold and the air was filled with chatter that to the outside ear would sound like a sophisticated discussion but to any Slytherin, it was easy to pick up on the quiet gossipy undertones. Pride warmed your chest as you threw yourself down on one of the two sofas your roommates had already claimed. Tabitha Bainbridge and Diane Carter, two other girls in your shared bedroom and also two of Zoe’s disciples, were anxiously glancing around the room as if they, too, were going to be attacked. They, like the rest of the school, suspected one of the other houses. Fearful that if there were to be another incident that they’d suffer the same fate, although they weren’t as scared as you initially thought as they started badmouthing and scrutinising students, disdainfully remarking that it was probably a muggle-born, except they weren’t polite enough to use the proper name, choosing to use the derogatory term.

Sylvia rolled her eyes at you over the rim of her teacup, not knowing that you’d gotten away with being the culprit even though she’d almost walked in on you emptying half a tube of body lotion down the toilet.

_The other girls had already left for breakfast, allowing you to swipe a bottle and squeeze it over the porcelain bowl with one hand and flicking open the cap on the potion in the other. Your friend had poked her head into the bathroom calling your name and you thanked your lucky stars at having had the foresight to close and lock the cubicle door behind you._

_“Are you alright?” She’d called out._

_“Yes, just a moment!” You’d answered, pouring the potion into the half-empty bottle before slipping it back into your pocket._

_“It’s a shame Quidditch isn’t on this year, that Ravenclaw captain, what’s his name? Davies? Yeah, he looks quite fit in his uniform.” You heard her move further into the room, hearing the giggle in her voice, she must be leaning against the sink._

_“Maybe you should shack up with a rich Quidditch player in the future, have lots of broom-flying babies?” You cringed at how distracted you sounded twisting the cap back on the lotion, giving the bottle a shake._

_“Are you sure you’re alright?”_

_“Do you think you could grab my Alice band from my trunk?”_

_Sylvia’s response was a worried ‘I’ll be back in a minute’, you waited until you heard the door close behind her before darting out and placing the now-tampered-with bottle where you’d found it before turning the taps on, washing your hands. Sylvia returned, styling your front hairs to frame your face before placing the band on your head._

_You gave each other a satisfied smile before linking arms and leaving for breakfast._

_“Which player do you think I have the best chance of having babies with then?”_


	7. Note To Self: Stop Daydreaming While Spray-painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Everyone!!!

The twins stuck to their word and convinced Cedric to throw a party and you’d stuck to yours, sneaking off to have private music lessons with George.

Memories of him leaning close, one hand on yours, arranging your fingers on the frets, was enough to make you trip over your own feet. Lee had even caught you in the library trying to talk sense into yourself only to groan and shove your face in a book.

Sylvia had seen Roger Davies’ slack-jawed reaction to the graceful entrance of the Beauxbatons’ girls at the welcoming banquet last night, albeit disappointed but ultimately relieved. It would have been embarrassing for her to have a go at flirting if he was just going to look at another girl the way he’d looked at Fleur the way he had. Utterly embarrassing.

Zoe had been discharged from the hospital but only had to deal with half a day of questioning and weird looks in corridors before she became old news in anticipation for the newcomers. This didn’t stop her from throwing out the cosmetics Professor Snape had returned to her minus the contaminated lotion and owling her mother for replacements.

Throughout Halloween’s daylight hours, students had taken turns trying to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire including several Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts students, many of whom were unsuccessful from the get-go since they were underage. Even Fred and George spent a few hours with a frustrated Madam Pomfrey. She had a busy afternoon taking care of students, those silly enough to even try and fool the age line had suffered the consequences. You’d popped in on the boys while they were getting younger by the very minute, watching as wrinkles faded back into natural crows-feet laughter lines. A few “silver fox” jokes were thrown in as bushy manes shortened to their sleek, glossy red and gaunt looking faces filled out again with plush cheeks. It was strange to have physical evidence of what the twins would look like in their adulthood as you snapped a few photos. The effects of the sudden differences soon took a toll on their physical bodies and once they’d scoffed the chocolate frogs you’d brought, they promptly fell asleep, George holding your hand, grip getting firmer in his slumber as muscles rebuilt themselves.

Leaving the hospital wing you passed Cassius on his way to try his luck at getting his name in the tournament, who winked at you. Despite Fred’s warning and your own reservations, the exchange left a pink tint to your cheeks, not unlike the one George gave you daily. You decided to tell Sylvia of this small interaction next time you saw her, knowing she’d let out an excited squeal, excited that her sources could be right in saying that the older boy was interested in you, although you’d swear her to secrecy.

_ “It was only a wink, could’ve been friendly.” You’d say. _

_ “Friendly, my arse.” She’d reply. _

It was strange sharing a dorm with the Durmstrang students, each of them reaching the incredible heights and cold beauty Scandinavian countries are known for. The girls had their effortless strength akin to even the best of Hogwarts’ Quidditch players while the boys had the same four times over. Most of the Slytherin boys were intimidated to initiate any flirtatious conversation with any of the Durmstrang girls, while almost all of the Slytherin girls, including yourself, enjoyed the attention of the Durmstrang boys.

Sylvia quickly forgot about ever even looking Davies’ way in favour of a Norwegian boy, Kristoffer, the two sat close together on a loveseat. She was teaching him how to how the dainty teacups in a way that wouldn’t break them like he’d done already, the broken ceramic laid aside as he leant in to whisper sweet nothings to her in his mother tongue. By the look on her now bright red face, she would be smitten by the end of the week.

You, on the other hand, were sitting on the loveseat opposite in conversation with an Icelandic boy by the name of Magnús. You couldn’t help but feel completely entranced by his words, occasionally slipping up to ask for a similar English translation to a word before continuing. His blue eyes held an icy edge to them that felt like he was peering straight into your soul, and you let him, except for the person who he kept glancing at behind you. The small frown didn’t look like it fit with his angular features.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

The word made you furrow your brows slightly before you turned your body to see a disgruntled Cassius across the room in conversation with Draco Malfoy and his goons, occasionally flicking his eyes in your direction. He made eye contact with you for a moment which startled him enough to at least look embarrassed. You turn back to the Durmstrang boy and you place your hand over his.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s rumoured to fancy me enough to want to take me to the Yule Ball but not enough to have a conversation with me.” This makes the boy smile and turn his hand over to curl his fingers in between yours.

“Universal behaviour of a coward, his loss is my gain.”

The conversation keeps the same pace throughout dinner, interrupted by the announcement of Harry Potter also participating in the tournament, the Slytherin table all but simultaneously rolled their eyes, too used to Potter’s antics. You almost missed the curious looks from Lee and Fred from across the room and an unidentifiable emotion from George. It was unnerving and a queasy feeling settled in your stomach until the food arrived and you were able to eat. You tell yourself that it was probably just hunger, feeling better with each forkful of food you swallowed.

It felt nice to have someone hold your hand on the way back to your shared dorm, unafraid of the looks you were getting, despite it making it impossible for you to slip off quietly for evening rehearsals. You ended up walking all the way back down to the dungeons before your knuckles were lifted to surprisingly warm lips to be kissed gently and you said your ‘good night’’s.

You ended up being twenty minutes late. Panting and waiting for the Requirement door to reveal itself with sweaty palms after running the long way round to narrowly avoid Filch. Stepping inside you were met with Fred and Lee behind their instruments, looking like deers caught in headlights. George didn’t even look at you.

“Glad you could join us, your highness.”

The words held no hint of playful banter like they had that Sunday afternoon in the Great Hall they were spoken with no tone whatsoever, which also couldn’t have been good. The fierceness in his voice cut through you like a knife, even Lee looked surprised.

“Can’t leave my boys hanging, can I?” You try to say with a smile, but for some unknown reason, you felt ashamed with no reason to be.

Fred shot his brother a glare, you hadn’t done anything to be treated in this way. If he didn’t get his jealousy in check and stop acting like a git, George’s evening would end with him getting hexed halfway across the Pacific. He was tempted to chuck a drumstick at his twin but instead, he lobbed a can of spray paint in your direction which you caught with ease. Lee helped you pull out a large unfitted bed sheet from your satchel, spreading it out on the ground.

“Any ideas on what to put on the banner?” Fred said, eager to have fun and make a mess of the white fabric.

“We could make it look like there are some fireworks in the background, lots of bright colours would look cool,” Lee said from beside you, throwing his can of paint up in the air only to catch it again.

“I’m happy with that,” you chimed in happily. “We could give some of the letters little pixie wings too. George?”

He’d snuck up from behind, his hand on your shoulder made you flinch as he peered in between yours and Lee’s heads to get a look at the sheet.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He said absentmindedly, his touch leaves you and he goes back to tuning his guitar.

Lee took out a pencil, lightly sketched a design and then the four of you got to work, crouching or leaning forward on knees.

George seemed to slip out of his funk, too caught up in enjoying the fun of spray painting the banner to stay grumpy. You, on the other hand, couldn’t keep your eyes off the way his shirt clung to his torso, top buttons being undone and tie loosened by toned hands to reveal his sternal notch, only wishing you could lean over to kiss his neck. Heat flushes your system as vivid moving images pop through your head of him pulling you forward to straddle his lap, letting you undo more shirt buttons, kissing the soft skin of his clavicles. You imagined the way his hands would feel, holding you close, against your thighs, up your hips, fisting the fabric covering your waist. In your mind you lean your head back, blinking your eyes open only to be met with Magnús looking straight back at you.

“Hey! Careful!” Lee’s voice shakes you back to reality.

While you’d been preoccupied with the daydream you were still reeling from, you’d accidentally sprayed the back of George’s hand with bright green paint.

“Shit!” You scrambled to grab the robe you’d discarded, balled up the sleeve and used it to wipe away as much of the paint as possible before it dried. “I’m so sorry!”

“Doesn’t hurt, just gives me character.”

“Fucking hell, the last thing you need is more character.” Fred snorted. He was then flipped off by his brother and in a show of dramatics, acts as if he’s been shot, falling onto his side with a groan. He lays dead for a moment before lifting his head, grinning cheekily at Lee, who rolled his eyes.

With George’s hand almost clean (you’d watched, disgusted, as he spat on the back of his hand in an attempt to help you clean him up), the four of you finished the banner and stood back to marvel at the finished product. Even the shock of seeing Magnús in your fantasy couldn’t take away from the pride you felt.

“Wicked.”


	8. Trapped Under A Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure how to summarise this chapter; George and Reader get high and manage to get themselves in a compromising position lol <3 Hope you enjoy!! As always, thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments!!
> 
> Trigger Warning: mentions of smoking recreational marijuana and slightly NSFW towards the end of the chapter.

With each passing day, excitement and anticipation grew amongst many of the students, what with the new students and an upcoming party.

The members of Deaf Pixie were already infamous outside of the band you’d secretly formed, considered celebrities, especially amongst the younger years. The twins for their prowess on the Quidditch field and cunning tricks, Lee for his quick wit and commentary and you for representing Slytherin qualities in a newfound positive light and for also being on the Slytherin Quidditch team during your fourth year. Adrian Pucey had replaced you as soon as the season was over, considering its conflict of interest. All four of you were certified badasses, and it was because of this reputation you’d built that had gotten you this far without having any real trouble apart from a few snide comments, even Zoe’s confrontation in the bathroom wasn’t as bad as it could have been, you just consider yourself lucky that since her trip to the hospital she’d kept to herself, allowing her followers to stroke her ego and lick her wounds for her, even more, bruised when none of the visiting students paid much attention to her.

On Tuesday afternoon, the band had gathered, sans instruments, tucked out of sight in your library nook. There was a brief discussion and a decision was made to spread the word that as well as large speakers to pump music out of, the party would be a venue for live performance too. A passing comment made to Colin Creevey (still awestruck that people associated with Harry Potter knew who he was) and soon enough every journey between classrooms you were accompanied by a small congregation of enthusiastic little ones. It was even funnier when you entered the Great Hall for dinner to see the same thing happening to the rest of Deaf Pixie, the pointed black hats of the younger students barely reached your chin but their heights were minuscule in comparison to the twins.

Wednesday lunchtime was filled with Magnús leaning his head toward you conspiratorially, his husky voice recalling stories of growing up in Reykjavik, the most notable being having gotten dared to lick a metal railing in the middle of winter, as a child with no grip on handling the magic in his veins he’d accidentally fused his tongue to the metal, the tip of his tongue had been the same shade of grey for a week after he’d been separated. You did the same in return, sharing notable incidents from your childhood of accidental wandless magic, finding yourself wanting more and more to hear him chuckle at your jokes. Sylvia made a wide-eyed gesture when you caught each others’ eyes from across the table, she was very much enjoying the attention from her own Durmstrang companion, giggling when Kristoffer let her squeeze his taut bicep. You tried to avoid the curious gazes from around you and ignore the loud flirting directed towards the red-headed twins a few tables away.

_Fuck! Don’t be so stupid, jealousy is an ugly emotion._

_You’re just friends, just friends._

_You don’t own him, just stamp it out and move on._

_Magnús is pretty too…_

By Thursday, you felt exhausted, balancing your studies, social life and learning a new instrument on a deadline was no easy feat. You’d barely had time to even sneak off to your darkroom and the bottom of your school satchel had started to accumulate a collection of unprocessed film rolls. Just thinking about it made your shoulders tense up, you’d had no time to yourself to cool off and gather your thoughts in the abandoned storeroom, no time to take solace under the dim red light. The twins had taken the opportunity of their small spotlight to offload a large portion of stock in anticipation for the party, their voices could be heard all over school chanting the wonders of their fireworks.

Thankfully you’d only had lessons for the first half of Friday allowing you to sneak off and not be constantly surrounded. You’d started to get fidgety towards the end of History of Magic, ready to snap, even contemplated sneaking off with George and his stash. Indica to send you into a well-deserved nap or Sativa to let off some steam? Dealers choice, pardon the pun.

Everything but the textbook and parchment in front of you seemed interesting. Glad to have a seat closest to the wall, you made a disgruntled face at the painting beside you. The young girl had been in various Hogwarts rooms since the 1850s, for over one hundred years she’d relaxed on a lounger, surrounded by the enormous bell-shaped skirt of her dress, waiting for the day her counterpart painting to be returned to her side. This was not helped by some of the other paintings constantly trying to court her, none of them being worthy in her opinion. Today, she lifted her fan to cover the sympathetic smile crossing her dainty features. Always one to dote on witches and hopeless romantics, Florence was a close confidant for many and was wise beyond the eternal youth she’d been painted as.

You almost hadn’t noticed the rest of your classmates packing away until the Ravenclaw next to you nudged your elbow and you quickly scooped your belongings away. You called your goodbyes to Florence, who was now distracted by her neighbour, a painting of a man twenty years her senior and a terrible drunk, telling her a crude ‘joke’ in an attempt to ‘woo’ her, only to be slapped away by her fan and her screeching for someone to move her away from ‘This horrid, horrid beast!’.

Sylvia walked with you halfway to the Slytherin dormitory, asking your advice on what to wear for the party tomorrow, before parting ways to go up a flight of stairs where you went down.

The corridors seemed to thin as classes began, students filing inside rooms. You made it to the secret dorm door, although it was already moving, bricks grinding against each other and folding back, the archway revealing Magnús on the other side.

_Even running late he looks cool…_

His lips meet your cheek, reaching up and tucking hair behind your ear. He mumbles something about ‘potions’ before breezing past you, still trying to compute what exactly had happened, fingertips coming up to feel your face, already scalding hot. You booked it inside and up to your haven, shoving your hand inside your bag to find the key, taking a few attempts to get it in the hole and letting yourself inside, flipping the switch to the red bulb before otherwise being plunged into welcome darkness. Your solitude did not last long, not even thirty seconds later the door opened and shut again as if by itself before a body emerged seemingly from thin air. George’s bright hair blended with the only light, his presence doing nothing to calm the rising panic inside you.

_Did he just see..?_

“You looked like you were about to pass out when I saw you after the second period, thought you might need a pick-me-up?” He reaches inside his robes and pulls out two papery objects with a smile.

_Maybe not…_

“You read my mind.”

Knowing all of your roommates wouldn’t be returning to the bedroom until well after dinner, you led George back along the hallway. All of your and Sylvia’s scented candles were lit to cover some of the smell and your small trinket tray was emptied of the silver rings and bracelets it usually held to become an ashtray.

George kicked off his shoes and pulled off his robe before launching his body onto your bed, bouncing slightly when he landed. You giggled and did the same, also unclasping your bra and pulling it out of your sleeve, getting comfortable at the foot of the bed, crossing your legs, pushing pillows behind your back, passing some to George as he sat up himself.

George lit the joint and passed it over.

“Ladies first,” he said, eyes lingering on your mouth as you took a drag, eyes closing in bliss, smoke pressing out through your nose.

You took turns passing the joint, George trying to teach you how to blow smoke rings but the two of you burst into uncontrollable giggles at each failed attempt. A high enveloped your body, relaxing your muscles and mind, taking the edge off the week, feeling significantly happier in your current situation. George had loosened his tie, unbuttoned and untucked his shirt. In his reclining position, the shirt had risen slightly to reveal slight abs from his years as a quidditch player and _oh-god stop looking he’s going to catch you staring._

_A happy trail…_

When the first joint was finished, the second was pulled out, George moving in a low crawling position as if in slow motion, outstretched arm shaking with leftover giggles to reach his robe at your end of the bed.

“D-don’t laugh at me!” he babbles, unable to control his chuckles.

“I’m not!” The ‘o’ is too elongated to convince anyone that either of you is sober. He’s looking up at you with those gorgeous eyes of his, fringe falling away, dilated pupils ringed in a red the same shade as his cheeks. He looked peaceful. “How could I laugh at you?”

_What a knob, no one should be this pretty._

He hums in response, laying on his back, his head in your lap, placing the joint against his _oh-so-plush_ lips and lighting it. The unnamed emotion is dizzying, bringing your hand to his face and running your nails against his soft skin is grounding, he doesn’t complain either.

“Who would win in a fight; me or a bear?” he says, lifting the joint upwards for you to take.

“Tough question,” you mull it over, taking a drag. “What kind of bear are we talking about here?”

“Does it matter?” he grins up at you.

“There are so many kinds of bears, wicked cuddlers.”

“And you’ve cuddled so many bears in your lifetime, of course. Are there bears in Britain?”

“Dumbledore has some on, what’s the word?” Your head feels fuzzy, the word is on the tip of your tongue, something to do with money, money-scroll? You poke your tongue out to see if the word is there.

“What are you doing?” George has burst into hysterics, sitting up to face you, still with your tongue out.

“Payroll! Dumbledore has bears on his payroll!” You gasp in excitement, bringing the hand holding the almost finished joint up in victory. “They patrol the forest, I’ll have you know.”

“Then I’ll just go find one now, shall I?” he chuckles, taking the stubby joint and finishing it, moving the ashtray to your bedside table.

“Wouldn’t be a fair fight, those poor bears going into battle against you, the superior fighter.” You change positions, tucking your legs underneath you.

George looks down at his hands in confusion, how could he be the superior fighter against a bear? Until you burst into giggles again and he realises you’d been joking the whole time.

“You little shit, come here!”

With a devious grin, George grabs you and wrestles you underneath him, your arms come around his shoulders, lacing fingers in his hair. He pins your wriggling body to the bed with his, one hand pressed against your lower boob, fingers bending with the curve of your rib cage. The other is holding your bare thigh in a position that makes it your only option to wrap the rest of your leg around his waist. You don’t know whether to thank the heavens or damn yourself to hell at the decision you’d made this morning, choosing to wear long socks with your school skirt, wanting to relish the last of the Autumnal breeze while you could, but now with your skirt bunched at your hips, you wanted to relish something else. You squirm under his grasp, but stop at the feeling of his hips flush with yours, his crotch perfectly aligned with yours, it feels too good to be real. George is looking at your mouth, biting his lip. Neither of you moves for what feels like an eternity. 

Can he hear your pulse thundering in your chest or the second heartbeat between your legs?

“If I pulled away right now, what colour would I see?” His voice is breathy.

His question hangs in the air for a moment. The wheels in your head turn before you realise what exactly he means.

“Red.” A sensation passes through your body like you’re floating through time and space, the only thing holding you to Earth is George’s grip on your body and your grip in his hair. Your tongue doesn’t sound right with the noises you’re trying to make, your mouth is too dry. “Dark Red. In s-satin.”

He closes his eyes and his hand moves up your thigh slowly. His fingertips brush against the ruched frills of your panties and he releases a short breath he didn’t know he was holding. Unable to control the noise, a whine leaves your throat and his eyes shoot open, widening comically, watching your face intently.

Recognition passes across his face as if realising who you were for the first time and he shoves himself away. He gets to his feet and pulls on his robe haphazardly while you scramble to a sitting position, moving your skirt back into place. You bury your face in your hands, listening to him try and find his shoes in his intoxicated state. 

“I, uh, should go,” his voice is hoarse.

“Oh.” Is all you could muster, ashamed that you sound so flustered.

“Don’t want you to get caught with a fugitive.” He says with a grunt, probably trying to tie his laces.

“Oh.”

“I need you,” You look up too fast. “to let me out the front door, too many people around for it not to be weird.”

“Oh.” You slide off the bed with him pulling the borrowed invisibility cloak around his shoulders.

You make your way toward the bedroom door before you feel him take your hand, your head is swimming when you turn to face him.

_Shit, I’m so fucking high right now. Where the FUCK is my hand?_

Where George was holding your hand had disappeared under the invisible fabric, with a yelp you pulled your hand back into view and out of his warm one, cradling it.

“I’m sorry.” He leans down and presses his lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss, the opposite side to where Magnús had almost a lifetime ago. The hood is pulled up and he disappears completely. “Let’s go.”


	9. Does the carpet match the curtains?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my dears!
> 
> Apologies for not updating last Sunday, being in lockdown is making me lose all concept of time and space!
> 
> As always, i absolutely love all the lovely comments. I never imagined my little fic of a lanky ginger boy who likes to play guitar and a reader who likes to take photos would ever get over a thousand hits and it means the absolute world to me!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s stuck around so far and a huge wonderful thank you to @/RachelTheClumsy for being an amazing beta
> 
> <3

Unable to fool Sylvia, she saw right through your facade immediately upon returning from her last lesson of the day.

You barely noticed the distinct smell of weed leaving the room or the feeling of artificial wind whipping against your face as she cleaned up any evidence of how you’d spent your afternoon. She found you laying spread eagle on your bed, awake but not exactly aware of your surroundings. For two hours, Sylvia laid beside you and held your hand as you slowly came down from your high.

“Magnús kissed my cheek.” You break the silence, throat dry.

“Yeah?” Slyvia’s response was cautious.

“And George kissed the other.” You heard the soft intake of breath from beside you.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” It was, in no way, fine.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just wish I knew what was going on in his head, he has such a good head.”

“In whose head?”

“I know Magnús fancies me, but I’ve been friends with George for so long.” You sigh, the words falling from your mouth felt too elongated with your dry tongue. Sylvia hums. “Didn’t you want help choosing an outfit?”

“We don’t have to do that now.”

“No, no. Show me what you have.”

Sylvia makes her way to her trunk and opens it, moving aside her day-to-day school robes and starts pulling out articles of clothing suitable for a party. You roll over onto your front, cheek squished against quilted blanket, unable to find the strength to even prop your head up on your arms.

“Mummy sent me some new heels, I think I’ll wear them.” She pulls out a pair of chunky black platform heels with silver embellishments across the ankle strap. “Cute, right?”

“Super, any dresses in mind?” Your ‘s’ sounds weren’t as drawn out anymore but it reminds you on a snake, you giggle softly.

Sylvia starts to carefully unfold fabric and show you but you stop her at the third.

“That one, no questions.”

It’s a shiny grey camisole, as she stands at her full height and holds it against her front, you can see that the dress would hug Sylvia’s body, the colour complimenting her dark skin tone.

“Agreed.”

She throws the dress at the foot of her bed and rummages through the trunk again, pulling out a pair of white socks with lace frills along the ankles and different pieces of jewellery to show you. None of her necklaces seem to fit with the outfit, you roll over and back to show some of your own, pointing out a white plastic choker that would go well layered with one of her dainty silver chains. A pair of dangly earrings were also chosen, the ends held onto pearls shaped like teardrops.

_ She’s going to look angelic. _

“I’m starving, let’s get some food.”

You’d sobered up as much as you could, at least when you stood your body was upright and you didn’t sway as much. At least you’d be able to cover up your gelatinous legs with a robe.

When in the Great Hall, you kept your head down, avoiding eye contact in case anyone were to point out just how red your eyes are. In between shovelling perfectly cooked roasted vegetables as fast as you could into your mouth, you quietly recalled to Sylvia exactly what had happened from the moment you’d parted ways a few hours earlier. She listened in barely contained excitement, cheeks heating up in a heavy blush when you bring up having been in a compromising position. She peeked over at the Gryffindor table for you, trying to catch a glimpse of any redheads across the packed room.

“Will you see him tonight?”

“No, we’re going to move all the equipment to Hufflepuff before anyone gets up, have a few other things to do while all the teachers are distracted with everyone leaving for Hogsmeade. Speaking of, I’ll give you some money to pick up some drinks.”

She makes a noise of acknowledgment and goes back to her food.

“Wouldn’t hurt to talk about it with him at least.”

“What would I even say? ‘Hey, I know we’ve been friends since we were eleven but I’m willing to throw it all away because I fancy you?’ Yeah, not sure how well that’d go down.”

“You’re being so dramatic, I wish someone asked me what colour my panties were.” Her voice lilts wistfully.

“You’ll have plenty of people asking to see your panties tomorrow night.” You pat her hand in reassurance.

“That makes it sound so gross,” She snorts.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.” She hits you with a spoon.

You both slip out of the room as everyone is finishing with dessert, wanting to properly stretch your legs before having an early night.

“Did you finish the Ancient Runes work you were complaining about?”

“Shit, I forgot,” Sylvia bristles. “You’re so lucky your parents let you take Muggle Studies, I wouldn’t be surprised if you passed with flying colours without even studying.”

“In the beginning it was difficult to separate what I knew from being a Witch or a, well, you know.”

“Think of it as a best-of-both-worlds situation.”

“Have your parents spoken to you about your sixteenth birthday yet?”

“They’ve started to mention it, they seem pretty excited about me joining them but I don’t know if I can live up to the pedestal I’ve been put on. I don’t really have to start thinking about how to break the news to them until my uncles start owling, thankfully we don’t go home this Christmas or I’d start throat punching everyone.”

You burst into giggles.

“I see why that might have been an issue, have they said anything about what happened at the World Cup?”

“No,” She bristles slightly again, but cheers up when she remembers something. “I think Kristoffer is going to ask me on a date soon.”

“Lucky guy, would you go to the tea rooms?”

“Drinking bland tea and eating tiny disgusting sandwiches with all the other lame couples doing the exact same thing is not my idea of a good first date.” Sylvia groans.

“I’m only joking,” You roll your eyes at her. “No one with more than four brain cells would be caught in there.”

“You can say that again.” She sounds distracted, a far-away look graced her features like it always did when her mind was elsewhere, she stops walking. “Someone’s coming.”

You look around the hallway, studying the walls before spotting the largest window of the corridor. The two of you duck behind curtains long enough to cover you down to your shoes, bodies pressed up against the stone walls, barely breathing. The footsteps slow down at the apparently empty corridor. Sylvia’s face is just visible from the opposite side, she keeps making erratic eye movements and mouthing something at you.

“It was so awkward, she probably hates me,” comes a familiar voice, you know exactly who it is. Sylvia seems satisfied when she sees your jaw clench and brows furrow.

“You know how she feels about people assuming how she feels, not like she could ever hate you.” It’s Lee. Sylvia was able to discreetly point that he was behind you without alerting anyone of her presence.

“She wouldn’t even look at me!’ George countered.

“With the quality of the stuff you smoked I’m surprised she could even stand up, let alone make it all the way up from the dungeons for dinner.” Lee chuckles.

“I think we’re asking the wrong question here, my friend.” You can hear Fred slap one of the other two on the back. “How was it?”

There’s a pause, Slyvia mimics embarrassment, covering her eyes before moving them to her cheeks and mouthing ‘red’.

“Piss off.” George’s voice is muffled by his hands if Sylvia’s movements were correct.

“Oh, don’t be like that! What was it like?” Without looking you knew exactly what the shit-eating grin on Fred’s face looked like.

“You’re missing the point,” George groans, the next half of his sentence gets cut off, he’s covered his face with his hands again.

“What was that? We can’t hear you!” Lee has joined the teasing now, followed by something that sounds like ‘buggering arseholes’, George has always been creative with his insults.

“Come on, I’ve always wondered what kind of body she’s been hiding from-.”

Fred barely finishes his sentence before there’s the deafening crack of a punch, a thud of a body falling backwards and hitting the floor. Fred’s body slides along the floor into your view. Sylvia looks panicked, eyes wide, and you take a step back in an attempt to conceal your body more than you already had. The boy looks dazed, unable to regain any leverage as George enters your vision, launching himself at his brother. The twins struggle with each other on the ground, pulling at robes, even landing a few punches to ribs.

You swear Fred catches your eyes for a moment from his position on the floor but with a smile he pushes up and rolls sideways out of view. Lee’s cackles diminished just enough to cast a sufficient levicorpus, Fred fell back into view, getting back to his feet to dust himself off and watched as his brother was hoisted up by an ankle. Sylvia covered her mouth to stop any giggles from escaping, you only wish you’d taken her spot and be able to see what was going on.

“What was it like?” Fred’s grin took no time in returning as he crouched down to what must have been George’s eyeline.

“That’s not the point!” George’s protests are interrupted by Fred raising an eyebrow, you can hear him sigh. “I liked it too much.”

Lee releases without warning and George lands on the ground with a thud. The brothers pick each other up, Fred and Lee snickering too much for George’s liking.

“Under or over the blouse?” Fred snorted. “Don’t tell us you got a hand on her boob, did you?”

“I mean it, fuck off.”

The boys change the topic and continue their quiet conversation as they leave, except at the last moment, Fred turns his head and gives you a purposeful wink, mischievous smile having replaced the evil grin.

When the coast is clear, Sylvia leaves her curtain and grabs your shoulders with an excited noise, not used to spying, adrenaline clouding her senses.

“Holy shit.” Is all she can muster when she catches her breath on the walk back to the dorm.

“Yeah, holy shit,” You muse, still reeling from George’s answer.

_ What kind of an answer is ‘I liked it too much?’ _

It’s easy to slip in with the sea of black robes and red jackets. Sylvia doesn’t know what to say, only links your arms together, you feel her squeeze your bicep through the thick fabric, you smile.

“Are you going to bed?” She asks when you find yourself back in the common.

“Yeah, have a big day tomorrow,” you can’t help but feel tired.

“Alright, babe,” You welcome Sylvia’s hug before Kristoffer appears to sweep her away for an evening of fireside flirtations.

You got through your nightly routine quickly after leaving a pouch of coins for Sylvia to use tomorrow. With teeth brushed, makeup washed off and now in your pyjamas, you tucked yourself into bed, a notebook lay open resting against your thighs lit only by the candles at your bedside. For half an hour you tried to work on last minute memorisation of lyrics and notes although you weren’t sure how good it would do when your bed was practically begging you to fall asleep in it.

Finally, you blew out the candle, set your alarm, turned over and were shortly dead to the world.


End file.
